The Back Country

coming home from my mother
she refuses to die … at 89
deep in dementia
her own world,
unable to speak …

coming home at noon, to the back country –
sit for half an hour in the sun
a poppy-seed cake and a coffee
a book of poems (The Back Country)
“the berry feast”

cool wind but sun,
spring around the corner
quiet Thursday noon
the neighbour cat sees me
comes down from the roof
and curls up on my lap


sparrows on the hedge
chirping cat alerts
we see you!
crow on the old apple tree
crows three, four times
too large to be bothered by cats

the book cover is faded
bought it when I was young
I am fading
but something that is beyond time
never ages